The Sacred Coupling thing
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash. Humor, romance. Sequel to 'The Feast of the Shamans'. Jim's having nightmares... and so is Blair.


**The Sacred Coupling Thing** - Chapin CSI

_A sequel to The Feast of the Shamans_

* * *

Blair Sandburg poured himself a cup of coffee and after a leisurely sip, leaned on the kitchen counter. It was seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, and he'd just finished setting the table for breakfast. He eyed the display with approval: Steaming bowls of oatmeal; home-made strawberry jam; toast, (whole-grain, plain and unbuttered), and freshly-squeezed orange juice. A nutritious breakfast -the kind of breakfast he liked.

Of course, (and the thought put a smile on his lips), it was also exactly the kind of breakfast that Jim hated.

Well, too bad. It was their tacit agreement after all: whoever got up first, made breakfast, (which is why breakfast at the loft was usually a cholesterol-packed, processed-food feast that ended up being eaten by Jim alone while Blair resorted to algae shakes); but Jim had failed to get up on time this morning.

In fact, he hadn't even stirred yet.

It was understandable; Jim hadn't had an easy night -he hadn't had an easy week, for that matter. For the last five days or so, he had been having nightmares that woke him up in the middle of the night like clockwork.

Jim had made light of the situation from the start, but as the days passed it became evident that the lack of sleep was starting to affect him negatively. He was irritable, for one thing. 'Well, what's new about that?' some might say, except that Blair himself had taken notice. If Blair, who had the patience of Job, was concerned about Jim's moods, it gives you a hint of how bad things were.

And it wasn't just Jim's crankiness that was getting out of hand; he was also distracted, and his lack of focus was starting to be a problem at the precinct.

Blair had tried to broach the subject but Jim had rebuffed him every time. The Sentinel had indignantly denied that the lack of sleep was having any effect on him. He wasn't distracted, he said, and he certainly wasn't short-tempered –and he would kick the ass of anyone who implied otherwise.

Blair didn't insist. One thing he'd learned over the years was that Jim would open up sooner or later. Of course, knowing Jim, it would probably be 'later', since he didn't believe in asking for help. Then, by the time he did ask for help, what had begun as a little cold had reached pneumonia status, and the little pimple had turned into an abscess…

But that's the way things were. Blair decided to wait...

And wait.

He would have waited for as long as it took, but that was before last night.

After last night's events, he was done waiting for Jim to open up.

The time had come for the Guide to intervene.

Blair gulped the last of the coffee to fortify himself. It wasn't going to be easy, getting Jim to trust him… But he'd find a way.

Determined to start right away, Blair put the cup back on the counter and then walked to the stairs that led to Jim's room. He carefully took the first step and then looked up.

"Jim?" he called out.

The Sentinel didn't stir. The only sound coming from upstairs was his gentle snoring, and this went on uninterrupted.

Blair felt a pang of sympathy for Jim. The poor guy hadn't fallen asleep till about two; he must be exhausted.

Blair was considering the possibility of letting Jim rest a little longer, but this benevolent thought was overridden by the memory of a recent conversation, one that had ended with Jim tersely saying, 'My sleeping problems are none of your freaking business, Chief!'

Blair's eyes narrowed.

"We'll see about that," he muttered. In a slightly louder voice he said, "Jim? Breakfast's ready."

The snoring continued.

"Hey, Jim?"

Nothing.

Blair took a deep breath and filled his lungs with enough air, then raised his face the way a wolf does when it howls to the moon. Energized by the wolf within, Blair emitted his call -not exactly a howl, though it was just as hair-raising. It was a call that would be heard not only by Jim but by all the residents of Prospect Street, and would stir endless speculation as to its source for the next couple of weeks, "COME AND GET IT!"

Blair paused.

It worked; Jim's snoring faltered, and soon it was replaced by other sounds: groans, coughs, and a few that are just too nasty to mention.

Gratified, Blair returned to the kitchen to wait.

It took Jim several minutes to pull himself together but finally there was the sound of heavy footsteps as he finally came down the stairs.

Blair leaned on the kitchen counter and crossed his arms in a stern gesture.

"Well, well," he said when he heard Jim reaching the bottom of the stairs, "Look who's finally deigned to -" But the words died in his throat. His jaw dropped.

Walking towards him was the most exquisite sample of masculine beauty he'd ever seen.

Jim.

In the nude.

In what was yet another example of absentmindedness, Jim had forgotten to put on clothes. And while walking around in the loft in some degree of undress was nothing new for him, (frankly, Jim was a bit of an exhibitionist), he'd always worn boxers at least. Prancing about as naked as the day he was born was completely out of character, and Jim himself seemed to be aware of this.

He was covering his face with both hands, as if in shame.

Blair's first impulse was to look away but the temptation to ogle was just too strong; he just had to take a peek. And who could blame him? After years of merely guessing what was underneath those black silk boxers, he finally had a chance to see Jim in all his magnificence. And with Jim covering his face -and his eyes- it was actually safe to look.

Blair's gaze immediately zeroed in that elusive portion of Jim's body, the one that was bobbing up and down with every step Jim took.

Soon, Blair's eyes were bobbing up and down too…

But Blair's inherent respect for Jim's privacy prevailed. He forced himself to look away and find something else to focus on -something that made him forget the sight he'd just been feasting on. His gaze first fell on the wax arrangement on the table, but the wax cucumbers, carrots, and zucchinis couldn't provide much of a distraction.

Hoping for something less, hum, phallic to look at, Blair's eyes frantically darted here and there, successively falling on Jim's fishing poles standing in a corner of the loft, his own collection of ancient blowpipes on the mantel, and the lighthouse posters on the walls.

In a panic, Blair turned his gaze back into the kitchen, where he immediately noticed the calendar they'd got from the deli downstairs. It depicted some nice sausages with the caption, 'bigger, juicier, and mouth-watering.'

In disbelief, he looked around the loft. He'd never noticed this before but it seemed like their entire home was filled with phallic images! Hell, the loft itself was held together by a huge wooden pole that stood in the middle of the room!

Jim groaned then, effectively putting an end to Blair's musings.

Looking at the Sentinel now, Blair realized that, first of all, Jim wasn't prancing around but stumbling, and secondly, he wasn't covering his face out of shame but only rubbing it the way he did when he was still half-asleep. Either that, or he was trying to rearrange his features, so vigorous was the face-rubbing.

Jim narrowly avoided colliding with every piece of furniture in the loft. He relied on his senses to walk around without looking and managed to get to the kitchen without a scratch, but when he found his chair he sat heavily on it and sighed as if it had taken him a huge effort to get there.

Blair found his voice at last.

"Hey, Jim? You ok?"

"Ah, Chief -" Jim mumbled as he finally lowered his hands.

"You were -Whoa!" Blair said, taken aback.

Jim looked awful.

His eyes had yellow crusts in the corners and huge, dark bags underneath; his cheeks were crisscrossed with creases left by the pillow, and his jaw was festooned with dried drool. Even his usually neat hair was sticking out.

"Ah, shit," Jim sighed, "I had the worst nightmare last night -"

"And now you're trying to pass it on to me?" Blair blurted out, "Shit, man, you're ruining all my fantasies, here!"

Jim was yawning when he heard the words. His mouth closed with a snap.

"Huh?" he frowned, "What did you just say?"

"Wha -? Nothing!" Blair said quickly. "Nothing. I was just saying that you look like hell."

"Gee, thanks a lot," Jim muttered sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Blair said, "I mean, you could have at least washed your face, you know."

Jim mechanically started to rise, but Blair quickly intervened.

"Wait," he said, putting a hand on Jim's shoulder, "Wait here. I'll get you something."

Blair went to the bathroom. When he returned, he noticed that Jim had recovered enough to notice the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He was eyeing it with open distaste.

Blair smiled to himself.

"Here," he said, offering a wet towel to Jim, "Make yourself presentable."

Jim clumsily wiped his eyes.

"Uh, Jim?" Blair said, pointing at a corner of his own mouth, "Here. You missed the drool."

"Oh, jeeze," Jim muttered, clearly embarrassed. He finished cleaning up and then tossed the towel in the nearest waste basket. When Blair moved in the basket's direction, Jim growled, "Leave it there."

Blair's eyebrows rose in surprise but he refrained from making a comment. There were more important matters to discuss than a perfectly good towel going into the trash for no reason.

Blair filled a mug with coffee and offered it to Jim. Jim eagerly took it, then drank the coffee as if it were cold beer in a Summer evening.

Holding back a smile Blair offered him more.

"Yes. Please," Jim said, holding his mug with both hands.

Blair filled Jim's cup and then took a seat. He watched as Jim drank the last of the coffee. The Sentinel looked better now.

"So, Jim," Blair said after a moment, "Are you gonna tell me what happened last night?"

This time, Jim was more cautious.

"Well… I had a dream –a bad dream- and then -" he stopped.

"It wasn't just a bad dream, Jim. It was a nightmare."

"Yes," Jim admitted reluctantly, "It was. I -" He seemed to be considering what to say next when something caught his attention. He frowned at Blair, "That's your blue shirt."

Blair glanced down.

"Yes, it is," he said as if he was just seeing it for the first time. He looked up again. "So?"

"It's your good shirt," Jim said. "You only wear it when you're going out on a date."

"Oh, yeah," Blair said, frowning at Jim's observation. "You're right. Funny," he added, almost to himself. "I don't even remember putting it on. Ah, what the heck," he shrugged, "I haven't been on a date for so long that I might as well start wearing it for breakfast."

"Well, it's way too fancy to wear at home," Jim muttered.

Blair raised an eyebrow. It struck him as funny that Jim would criticize someone else's choice of clothing when he wasn't wearing a stitch himself.

"At least I'm wearing clothes," Blair replied pointedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim asked distractedly. His eyes were roaming the table, looking for something to eat.

"What do _I_ mean?" Blair asked incredulously, "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?" Jim asked, still looking around, "Hey, do we have something else to eat, Chief? Something that doesn't taste of hay with molasses, that is," he added sarcastically. "At least, gimme some butter -"

"Jim?" Blair interrupted, "You really haven't noticed?"

"What?" Jim asked, finally looking up.

"Jim, you're butt-naked," Blair said bluntly. "Not only that; you're sitting on a plastic-covered chair. You're probably stuck to it by now."

"No, I'm not," Jim glowered.

"Yes, you are."

"I am not-" Jim repeated as he casually glanced down, only to realize with a start that he was indeed. Mystified, he looked up. "I _am_ naked."

"Told ya."

"Oh, jeeze," Jim said uncomfortably. He tried to get up, only to find that he was stuck to the chair. "I can't believe this," he said. "And you! Why didn't you say something?"

"Hey, don't turn this on me!" Blair said, raising his hands in self-defense, "You're not a little kid anymore; surely you know when your wee wee's sticking out!"

"My what?"

Jim was glowering, but the gesture was wasted on Blair. In fact, the young man was trying hard not to burst out laughing. What held him back was the certainty that Jim was sincerely mortified.

"Here," Blair said, offering Jim the cloth napkins he'd set earlier on the table. Jim sheepishly placed them on his lap.

Blair was looking thoughtfully at Jim. He had an idea of what was ailing Jim and what the solution was –hence the light breakfast –but he still didn't know how to broach the subject. He knew Jim; the sentinel would not go along with this line of treatment so easily.

"Jim," he started, "We need to talk, man."

Jim looked down.

"Chief, I don't know why I don't have any clothes on, but -"

"Aw, forget about that," Blair said soothingly, "It's not like you were in a public place. And I didn't see anything," he lied. "Well, nothing I haven't seen before, that is," he said, then frowned at the way that sounded, "Not that I had seen _it_ before," he amended, "But it's like others I've seen before, so - Not that I've seen that many," he amended quickly, "Except in books. And gym class. And I've seen mine, of course -"

But Jim wasn't really listening to Blair's babble. He was still upset by his own behavior.

"I just can't believe it. I mean, what is wrong with me?"

"It's the lack of sleep, Jim," Blair said in a slightly patronizing tone, "It's making you distracted. I know you don't want to discuss this but we can't put it off any longer." He paused in case Jim tried to put up a fight, but the sentinel merely waited. "Now, what can you tell me about these nightmares you've been having?"

"Well -" Jim hesitated. "Not much, really. I know I've been having the same dream over and over but the details are a bit hazy."

"What about last night's then? It sounded like you were being threatened. You gotta remember that."

"Oh, shit, yeah," Jim said wearily, "It was really vivid. Scary. For a moment, I thought I was going to die -"

"Good."

Jim looked up in surprise.

"What did you just say?"

"I said good," Blair replied matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms and gave Jim a stern look, the one he'd been practicing on for an occasion like this, "You want to know why you had that nightmare? I'll tell you why: It's because you pigged out on Wonder Burgers before coming home last night. No wonder you didn't complain when I said we had chicken salad for dinner!"

"I didn't eat any Wonder Burgers -"

"Oh, really?" challenged Blair, "Then explain to me why, when I went to your room last night you burped a Wonder Burger burp on my face! The whole room stank of pickles and Big Bob sauce!"

"Ha! I didn't have a Big Bob last night!" Jim replied without thinking. "I had the Jumbo burger with -"

"Ah, ha!" Blair said, pointing an accusatory finger at Jim, "You ate burgers!"

Jim hesitated, then gave up.

"All right, I admit it," he said uncomfortably, "I ate a burger. But that doesn't mean -" he paused. "Wait a minute, you were in my room?"

"You don't remember that?"

"No, I don't," Jim glared, "What were you doing up there?"

"Well, last night about midnight, you started talking in your sleep, and -"

"I was talking in my sleep?" Jim interjected uneasily, "What did I say?"

"Well, you weren't exactly coherent," Blair said, "Come to think of it, you weren't talking either," he added thoughtfully, "You were yelling, screaming like you were about to be murdered -which is the only reason I dared to invade the sanctity of your room -"

"You don't have to be sarcastic," Jim mumbled.

"I even took my gun with me –which gives you an idea of how bad it was," Blair added pointedly. "Anyway, as soon as I got upstairs I realized you were only having a nightmare. You were tossing and turning, holding on to your pillow, crying out like a baby-"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim interrupted, "That's not important. Now, think carefully, Chief: Did I say any actual words?"

"A few," Blair said with a shrug, "Let that be a lesson to you," he added sententiously. "Next time you reach for a burger, remember the birds."

"The birds?"

"Yeah, the birds. More specifically, the condors. That's what you were screaming about," and Blair surprised Jim with a passable imitation of his own voice, "'THE CONDOR, THE CONDOR! PLEASE, GET IT OFF ME, GET IT OFF ME! OW, OW, OW!' Boy, talk about weird dreams," Blair smirked, obviously enjoying himself, "That's what you dream of, then? Giant condors?"

"It wasn't a giant condor," Jim admitted morosely, "It was regular-sized one. But you know those; they have huge claws and strong beaks."

"Uh, huh," Blair nodded noncommittally. "Well, ok. A regular-sized condor was attacking you. Have you stopped to wonder why you dreamed of a condor and not, say, an eagle or a dove?"

"Why?" Jim repeated with a frown, "Well, how the hell should I know? I saw lots of condors when I lived in the Peruvian jungle -"

"But isn't the condor Incacha's animal spirit?"

Jim looked up sharply. After a moment, he nodded reluctantly.

"Then the condor should be your ally, not your enemy," Blair said reasonably. He was silent for a moment. "Now that I think of it, you mentioned Incacha a couple of times last night. Did you dream of him, too?"

Jim hesitated.

"Yes," he said at last, "Incacha was in the dream." He paused for a moment, then added, "He's been in each and every one of them. The condor, too."

Blair nodded thoughtfully.

"But the condor didn't attack you till last night, right?" he said. He wasn't really asking, he was drawing his own conclusions. "Otherwise, you would have yelled about it before." Blair looked up, "What about Incacha? What did he do? Did he help you flee from the condor?"

"He didn't," Jim replied thoughtfully. "He… He laughed at me!" he said, surprised at the memory, "He was laughing and goading the condor to peck me harder!" he added indignantly. "Even my animal spirit was scared; it was cowering between my legs -"

Blair didn't share Jim's indignation; he was merely puzzled.

"That's odd," He said. "Why would Incacha instigate an attack against you?"

"Well, he didn't really -"

"Yes, he did, Jim." Blair said firmly. "We need to find out why."

"Chief, it was just a dream -"

"A recurrent dream that seems to be escalating in violence," Blair interrupted. "That worries me, Jim." He leant forward, "You say the details are hazy but is there anything you can you tell me about these dreams?"

Jim was silent for a moment.

"Some parts I remember clearly." He admitted reluctantly. "The dream always starts with me running through the jungle. I'm not running _away_," he pointed out, "That didn't happen till last night. In my dream I'm rushing to a place I've been in before: The Temple of the Shamans."

Jim paused for a moment, then he continued, "Incacha is there. He's always glad to see me," he added, and by the faint smile on Jim's lips, it was obvious that the feeling was mutual. "He says he has an important message; something about -"

Jim glanced furtively at Blair and then he looked away, "Just something," he said evasively, "The dream usually ends some time after that," he added, "But last night it was different. Instead of saying goodnight like he always did, Incacha said something about teaching someone a lesson, and then he raised his arms above his head. Thunder and lighting suddenly exploded in the sky!" Jim gulped, remembering how life-like the dream was. "Then Incacha's condor took flight, did a couple of turns above us and then suddenly swept down and started pecking my head!"

Blair was impressed.

"Wow," he said, "So, he's teaching _you_a lesson. Do you know what he meant by that?"

Jim was gingerly touching his head, as if to verify any damage done by the condor. He didn't immediately reply.

"Jim?" Blair insisted.

"It's nothing," Jim said at last, "Incacha wanted me to… to… " He hesitated. His jaw moved but no sound came. It was as if a part of him wanted to spill its guts while another part of him absolutely refused to do so, and Blair watched in fascination as Jim's inner turmoil was played out on his face. For someone with such a granite-like set of features, Jim could be really expressive at times.

Finally, in a desperate move, Jim put an end to his ordeal by picking a spoon and dipping it into the oatmeal. He was grimacing even before he put the spoon in his mouth, but he bravely ate the gluey concoction.

Jim hated oatmeal but he hated dealing with emotions even more. And with his mouth full, he just couldn't talk.

Blair watched Jim eat but his attention was only partially on him. He was deep in thought.

"This is serious, Jim," he said at last, "This wasn't a nightmare," he added solemnly, "This was a _vision._ From what you've told me, Incacha's appeared in your dreams whenever you've had an identity crisis -"

Jim quickly swallowed the bulky mouthful in order to reply to that.

"Identity crisis?" he said gruffly, "What identity crisis?"

"Anyway," Blair said, ignoring Jim's outburst, "My point is, he's always been there to give you sound advice, Jim. He's obviously trying to tell you something important with these visions, only you've been too pig-headed to listen."

"I don't think -" Jim started but Blair didn't let him finish.

"You can't deny the strength of Incacha's spirit. He's concerned about you," Blair made a dramatic pause, "And I believe I know what it's all about."

Jim froze.

"You do?" He asked with some difficulty. When he finally moved, he put the spoon back on the table and then gulped noticeably, as if afraid of what he was about to hear.

Blair took a deep breath.

"Jim…" he started, "I believe Incacha's concerned about your health. And so am I. Jim…"

Jim leaned forward, his face once again showing different emotions at the same time –fear, hope…

"Yes, Blair?"

"I think it's time for you to lay off the burgers."

"Wha –what?" Jim asked, the glare back in place, "What do burgers have to do with anything?"

"Well, I think it's obvious!" Blair said, and this time he used a glare of his own, "You don't think I've been completely clueless about your eating habits, do you? You eat at Wonder Burger whenever I'm tied up in Court, or working on a case with one of the guys. No wonder you never bat an eye when Simon pairs me off with Megan or Joel!" Blair added resentfully, "'Gaining experience on the field', my ass!"

Jim tried to put in a word but Blair didn't let him.

"I can only imagine what your poor, clogged arteries look like by now," he said, shaking his head, "But maybe Incacha knows. Maybe this is his way of warning you to take better care of yourself! This is serious, Jim. After all, you're in your forties -"

"Early forties," Jim pointed out quickly.

"- and you're not gonna remain handsome and buff forever if you don't modify your eating habits. Besides -"

Jim perked up.

"You think I'm handsome and buff?"

Blair abruptly stopped his speech as he realized what he'd just said.

"Well… I -" he faltered. "Hum, yeah," he mumbled evasively. "Sure. I mean, I have eyes on my head, you know. I'm not blind. I can see you are, hum, you know -"

"Handsome and buff," Jim repeated helpfully.

"Yeah."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Blair had the sudden feeling that Jim was looking at him in a completely different way; not as a friend but as a Sentinel. Jim's smoldering gaze was leisurely examining every inch of his face; every eyelash, every pore, and every little line came under his scrutiny… But it was on his mouth that Jim's eyes finally rested on.

Jim's pupils dilated, making his eyes look black. It was almost as if he were going into a zone –

Blair's throat was dry but he managed to speak.

"Jim? You ok?"

The words broke the spell. Jim blinked and reluctantly glanced away. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

"Chief, about the burgers… I'd already suspected they were causing the nightmares, but -" he shrugged slightly. "I just didn't want to believe it. But hey, if you say they're behind all this then it's probably true."

Blair was surprised by this sudden capitulation but didn't say so. Jim looked up.

"I must have been really noisy, last night, huh?" he said apologetically, "I mean, to make you go upstairs -"

"Oh, that," Blair said, "Yeah, you were. You really got me worried, you know. But you calmed down as soon as you heard my voice. No biggie."

"Well. Still. You shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing," Jim said gruffly, "You're my partner, not my babysitter."

"I'm your guide too, Jim," Blair said pointedly, "And it would be nice if you turned to me when something's bothering you."

"I know," Jim said, softening his tone a little. "I know, Chief."

They were silent for a moment.

"So," Blair said, "Do you know what to do now?"

"I've got to lay off the burgers," Jim said resignedly. "It sounds kinda drastic -"

"Well, you'll just have to do it," Blair said, reaching for the home-made jam. "Do it for Incacha," he added encouragingly, "He's pretty desperate, you know."

"Oh, really?" Jim said skeptically, "And you know this how?"

"Because he -" Blair stopped in mid-word. His eyes opened wide as he was stricken by a sudden realization, "Because he told me," he said.

Jim narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, he told you," he said, in the same tone he'd used before, "And when was this?"

"I… I don't know," Blair said, sincerely bewildered, "All I know is that suddenly, I have this picture of Incacha telling me he's desperate."

Jim snorted.

"So now you're having visions, too?"

"I think so," Blair said, oblivious to Jim's sarcasm. "Give me a minute," he said, stopping Jim from making another comment, "I think it happened after I came downstairs last night," he explained. "It could be the power of suggestion" he admitted, "Me, incorporating images from your own dream. But I don't think so." He was silent for a moment. "In your dream, was Incacha wearing an outfit made of sisal and feathers?"

Jim looked up sharply.

"He was," he said. Then, in a dismissive tone, he added, "But you're merely remembering what he was wearing when he came to Cascade."

"Not exactly," Blair countered, "In my dream, Incacha's outfit had more feathers. It looked more like a ceremonial costume than his every day set of clothing."

Jim frowned but didn't say anything.

"What about the condor?" Blair asked, "Was it perched on Incacha's right shoulder? In my dream, it kinda looked like a parrot –you know, like a parrot on a -"

" - on a pirate's shoulder." Jim said, finishing Blair's phrase.

"Kinda like that, yeah!" Blair nodded eagerly. He was excited at the possibility that his and Jim's visions might be related, but Jim was more cautious.

"Did he have something in one of his hands?" Jim asked, and Blair nodded vigorously. "Do you remember what it was?"

"A huge banana leaf!" Blair replied as if he were a contestant in some sort of question-and-answer TV show. "In his right hand!" he added, looking expectantly at Jim.

"A banana leaf ," Jim said, nodding solemnly. "I saw it, too."

Blair was thrilled.

"We shared a vision! Oh, man, you know what this means? Richard Burton wrote that Sentinel and Guide occasionally achieved a close spiritual bond after consuming great amounts of a certain mushroom, but this," he opened his arms wide, "_This_ is completely different! This is beyond anything he ever envisioned!" He glanced around, "I gotta take notes -"

"Chief -"

Ignoring Jim, Blair rose from his chair and started opening drawer after drawer in search of pen and paper.

He was talking to himself, making plans.

"We're gonna have to recreate the conditions that led us to this breakthrough," he was saying, "I'm pretty sure we can do it -"

"Chief!"

"Maybe we should start by eating the same foods we ate yesterday -ah, here it is!" he said as he found the pen and notebook that Jim used to write the weekly list of groceries, "Hey, Jim?" he said, glancing at the Sentinel, "You're probably gonna have to eat at Wonder Burger again –but don't get excited; it'll be a one-time only situation; merely for scientific purposes."

"BLAIR!"

Blair blinked when he heard his name. Jim rarely uttered it.

"Yeah?"

Jim tilted his head in Blair's chair's direction.

"We need to talk."

"But I've got to take notes of the -"

"Sandburg."

Blair knew that tone. When Jim got like this, it was better –and faster- to do whatever he wanted you to do; then you could argue your own case.

Half the time, Blair managed to convince Jim to do things his way, anyway.

Blair returned to his seat and waited.

Jim leaned forward.

"Chief, this is very important," he said slowly, "Do you remember exactly what Incacha said?"

"Not really," Blair said casually, "But we've already established what it is that he wants, right?"

"Think, Chief," Jim insisted, "It's important that you remember what you saw and what you heard in your dream." He paused. "Let's start at the beginning," he said, "Were you and Incacha at the Temple?"

"Maybe," Blair said cautiously.

"Think," Jim repeated, and this time Blair obeyed.

He glanced away and for a moment he remained in silence, trying to remember the details of his dream. Gradually, images started flashing in his mind –some clearer than others. Sounds, colors and even smells started to come back to him.

He wasn't merely thinking -he was reliving the dream.

"I'm running," Blair whispered. He wasn't in the kitchen anymore; he was in the jungle, rushing somewhere. Nothing stood in his way; wild creatures noticed him but swerved away in respect, and even the thick undergrowth seemed to recede for him. Blair was vaguely aware of the beauty surrounding him; he wanted to stop and take a look, but something stronger compelled him to go on.

At last, he reached a clearing in the jungle.

Incacha was there.

"Incacha's sitting on a rock," Blair said slowly, "He's shaking his legs one at a time -"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "He's shaking his legs?"

"Yeah," Blair said. This time he looked at Jim and found to his surprise that he could see Jim and the images in his dream at the same time. "Mosquitoes were swarming around his ankles but instead of swatting them off with the banana leaf, he was only shaking them off.

"Oh, man…" Blair added as another memory rushed into his mind, "He had red welts the size of dimes on his ankles! It looked like they itched like hell, but when I asked him if they did he said no –you know, like it was no big deal for a big warrior like him."

Blair shook his head, "You strong, silent types are all alike," he said, looking pointedly at Jim. "Incacha wouldn't admit it, but the mosquitoes were starting to get to him -he'd even developed a sort of tic on the right side of his face! Every time a mosquito bit him he twitched, making it look like he was winking at me –which is why I thought he was only joking when he said -"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim said, motioning Blair to continue, "What did he say?"

Blair frowned.

"Well… The thing is, he wasn't really talking to me at first. He was talking to the wolf."

"Your animal spirit? It was there, too?

"Uh, huh!" Blair said, remembering, "It was sitting at Incacha's feet. Incacha was patting its head, scratching its ears." Blair's eyes widened in wonder, "Only, at first, it felt like he was scratching _me_! It was amazing! I really should be writing this down -" he added, glancing at the pen and paper he'd found earlier.

Jim grabbed Blair's arm to catch his attention again.

"Go on, Chief. What happened next? Did Incacha order the condor to attack you too?"

"Why would he? I'm not the one eating burgers." Blair's reply was flippant, but Jim's serious demeanor sobered him fast. "What do you want me to say, Jim? The condor didn't attack me."

"Oh." Jim frowned, "Ok."

"But Incacha wasn't too happy with me, either," Blair added, as another part of the dream unraveled in his mind. "I think I did or said something that annoyed him." He paused for a moment. "Oh, I know. Incacha was saying things like, 'Now it's up to you, young guide,' when suddenly, he leaned forward and, in a very serious tone, said, 'You're my only hope.'"

"Oh, really," Jim said skeptically, "_You_ are his only hope."

Blair was defensive.

"Hey, it's not what I was expecting to hear from him, either. I mean, there he was, quoting a line from Star Wars –Princess Leia's, for God's sake! So I asked him if he thought I was Obi-wan Kenobi and then I started to laugh -"

"You _laughed_? You laughed at Incacha? What did he do?"

"He swatted me with the banana leaf!"

"I bet it stung," Jim said in commiseration.

"Yeah, it did!" Blair nodded. "But you know, I don't think he wanted to hurt me. Poor Incacha looked desperate -kind of like you, when you were trying to explain the Dunbar case to H and he just didn't get it?"

"Oh. That bad, then?" Jim paused for a moment. "So… Do you remember what Incacha was trying to explain to you?"

"Well…" Blair was deep in thought for a moment. "He was just giving me some advice. It's a little hazy but… I think he started by telling me to… to…" He blinked. He looked at Jim and then he looked down at himself.

"What, what?" Jim prompted.

Blair's mouth moved but no sound came.

"Well?" Jim insisted.

"He, hum, he told me to, hum -" Blair gulped. "Look, he told me to wear this shirt today, ok?"

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"He what?"

"He said it enhanced my looks." Blair said uncomfortably. "He said –and I'm only quoting, ok? He said, 'your Sentinel turns to putty whenever you wear that shirt.'"

Jim flushed.

"_I_ turn to putty? I turn to –oh, please," he rolled his eyes, "I don't turn to putty. I mean, sure, it looks good on you and all but -"

Blair raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It looks good on me?"

"Well… sure," Jim mumbled, "That's why you wear it, right? It's the exact shade of blue of your eyes, it fits you in all the right places, and -" Jim gulped, "What the hell am I saying?" he asked, almost to himself.

But Blair wasn't really listening to Jim; his attention was drawn to the last part of his vision, suddenly unraveling in his mind in a series of phrases uttered by Incacha. Two of them echoed over and over in his head, 'Sentinel and Guide ought to be together in all senses,' and 'Your sentinel loves you as much as you love him.'

Blair had listened in disbelief then, and he remembered in disbelief now. It just couldn't be. There had never been any sign from Jim –nothing at all… Had there?

A slight pressure on his arm interrupted Blair's musings. He glanced down and noticed Jim's hand still holding him. Those long, graceful fingers felt warm and heavy, and… possessive.

Blair shivered.

"Jim," he said huskily, "You're still holding my arm."

Jim didn't remove his hand. He stared into Blair's eyes.

"Do you remember what Incacha said?"

Blair nodded vigorously before finally managing to utter a breathless 'yes.'

Jim stared at him for a couple of seconds more and then he reluctantly let go of his arm. It seemed that there was nothing left to say, and so he simply sat back. After a moment, he picked up his spoon again. He didn't eat the oatmeal this time, though; he merely played with it.

Blair watched him for a moment, then ventured a question.

"Is that why the condor attacked you, Jim? Because you didn't want to do it?"

Jim didn't look up.

"I guess," he admitted, "The truth is, I never took any of this seriously, Chief. Up until last night I thought it was only a dream."

Blair smiled.

"A nightmare brought on by too many burgers?" he asked.

Jim nodded quietly.

"He's making one hell of a request, don't you think?" he asked, "It makes no sense; I mean, we're supposed to mate just because some spirits decided we should?"

"That's not how Incacha put it," Blair countered.

"I know," Jim said, "He used some big words. But the heart of the matter is that we've got to sleep together."

"And you don't want to," Blair said.

"Do you?" Jim retorted.

Blair looked thoughtfully at Jim. He remembered how, once he got past the initial shock - once he understood what Incacha meant, (which wasn't easy, due to the flowery vocabulary he used), the Shaman's request had made perfect sense to him. It wasn't like the idea of sex with Jim had never occurred to him before; it was his dirty little secret -one that he kept in the back of his mind, to be brought up when he was alone in his room or in the shower…

But Jim hadn't yielded as easily; in fact, he hadn't yielded at all.

Could it be that Incacha was wrong? Maybe Jim wasn't attracted to his guide… Or maybe he was simply too hard-headed to admit he was?

There was only one way to know.

Blair took a deep breath.

"_I _'d do it," he said.

Jim looked up sharply.

"For the good of the partnership, I mean," Blair added, backing up a little, "Incacha says there's something missing between us, and I think he's right. I mean, we're a good team, but there's a lack of communication -"

"That's not true," Jim protested, "We communicate just fine."

"No, we don't," Blair said quietly, "You still see me as a student, not as a cop or as a guide. It's only when you've run out of options that you've finally turned to me. The Little Spain District almost blew to pieces and the Chief of Police almost died, and all because you wouldn't include me in your plans. "

"I just wanted to protect you." Jim muttered.

"You can't do that forever, Jim. We're equals in this." He looked at Jim thoughtfully. "Look. You don't think Incacha would do anything to hurt us, right? If he thinks this will help, then I think we should do it," he paused, "Unless you're afraid that people will talk…"

"Ah, Chief, they're talking already," Jim replied. "It's not that. It's just not fair to you. I mean, you've already given up so much for this Sentinel thing; now they expect you to change your sexual orientation too? That's a hell of a lot to ask."

Blair understood now. Jim's reticence wasn't for himself; it was for his guide.

"I don't want to do this just because Incacha says so," Jim continued, "This is our lives we're talking about here. Feelings. I don't care if it's for the good of the city of Cascade or -"

"Hell, who's talking about the city of Cascade?" Blair snorted. He looked at Jim and, throwing caution to the air, said, "Jim, I'd do this even if you weren't a Sentinel."

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Oh, shit, yeah."

Jim smiled a little. He seemed glad –and relieved- but he didn't say anything. He was still Jim Ellison; he wasn't about to put his feelings on display –not twice in the same day, that is.

"So," he said, "It wouldn't be just because of what Incacha said -"

"No way," Blair said, "Not completely, that is," he amended. "I mean, I didn't know how I felt about you till Incacha told me. And I certainly didn't know _you_ turned to putty because of me."

"I don't turn to putty," Jim mumbled uncomfortably, but Blair didn't listen.

"Still, I've got to admit there were a few clues along the way," Blair said thoughtfully.

"Clues?" Jim frowned, "What clues?"

"Well, for instance, your last two girlfriends looked like carbon copies of me."

"No, they didn't," Jim scoffed. But he didn't look so sure of himself. Finally he nodded ruefully, "You're right; they did."

"Simon used to say that Kandy even sounded like me," Blair mused aloud, "A little five O'clock shadow, and she would have been my twin. And what about Barbara? She was really -"

"All right, all right," Jim glared.

"The point is, without Incacha butting in, we would have never known. We would have gone on, making mistake after mistake, getting involved with girls we didn't care enough about -"

"You're probably right," Jim said quietly. He took a deep breath. His next words sounded like a confession, "No matter who I was with, you were always in the back of my mind, Sandburg."

Blair smiled faintly. He could only guess what those words must have cost Jim. It encouraged him to be more forthcoming about his own feelings.

"You were in the back of my mind, too," he said sheepishly. "It's always been like that. No matter what, I'd rather be here with you. We've spoiled each other, Jim."

They were silent for a moment, musing on these big revelations. They were stealing glances at each other too, suddenly aware of physical traits they'd seen before but never really noticed.

They seemed happy with what they saw.

"So," Jim said after a while, "What now? Are we gonna do this?"

"Sure," Blair said matter-of-factly, "I mean, after what we said today –hell, after what I _saw_ today," he added, glancing at Jim's lap, "I can't go back. We've got to have sex. Or, as Incacha put it, we've got to 'merge our bodies and souls in a sacred coupling.'"

Jim rolled his eyes.

"No wonder it took me so long to understand what he was saying," he muttered. "All right," he sighed, as if in resignation. "Let's do the sacred coupling thing, then." He dropped his spoon on the table and pushed his chair back, "Your bed or mine?"

Blair raised his eyebrows.

"What, just like that?" he asked, "According to Incacha, a Sentinel's supposed to court his guide!"

Jim snorted.

"I've been cooking you breakfast for eight years now –that's gotta count for something."

"Breakfast? You mean those cholesterol time-bombs you eat each morning? Which reminds me," Blair added, "Some things are gonna change from now on, Jim."

"And the nagging's begun," Jim muttered to himself.

"Hey, I heard that," Blair said, "I'm only concerned about your health. Your digestion sucks, man. Last night you were burping the meals from the day before."

"Fine," Jim replied, "I'll give up sugar."

"And butter."

"Not the butter. And not the burgers, either," Jim said firmly, "I'm gonna need lots of protein now. Come on -" He placed his hands on the table to hoist himself up, only to find that he was stuck to the chair. He winced.

Blair smiled.

"Need help?"

"No, no, I can manage." Jim replied, carefully shifting on the chair until there was a big sucking noise; his ass was finally free.

Blair shook his head.

"This has gotta be the least romantic moment, ever," he muttered.

"Hey, you want romance?" Jim asked, "I'll give you romance. Here," And he offered a hand to Blair, who still hadn't stirred from his chair.

Blair gulped down before taking Jim's hand. Up until now he hadn't really believed it, but here was proof that the dream was about to turn into reality.

"We're really going to do this." He said as Jim's fingers wrapped around his own.

"Yes."

"Wow," Blair said, still stalling, "And here I thought I'd end up my days as a confirmed bachelor."

"Not a chance of that now, Blair," Jim said good-naturedly. "Sorry."

Jim pulled at Blair's hand. The young man stood up, only to be reminded of the one thing that put him at a disadvantage with Jim: height.

He'd never felt so self-conscious about it.

Blair felt the urge to make a joke about it, just like he did when he was at school. Before he did, however, he noticed something that lifted his spirits: His hand was as big as Jim's and just as strong.

He was Jim's equal.

"All right," Blair said. He raised his face and beckoned Jim for a kiss. Just before their mouths touched, he said casually, "We'd better hurry; otherwise, Incacha's condor will drop for a visit."

"Oh, shit," Jim said, faltering, "You don't think Incacha's gonna be _watching_ us, do you?"

Blair frowned.

"Do you think the old guy's that kinky?"

"I can't vouch for him in these matters," Jim said evasively.

Blair glanced around, then shrugged.

"Ah, what the heck," he said, pulling at Jim again. "So what if he watches. We're gonna make him proud, anyway."

* * *

THE END 


End file.
